Page 152 of The Good Duke
She placed her fingertips on his sleeve and allowed him to escort her along. All the while, Persephone looked ahead to the double-pile, hip-roofed Palladian structure with too many Venetian windows to count at first glance.
With its exquisitely carved stone renderings of ancient, cloaked figures and a Union Jack flying proudly atop the austere residence, there could be no doubting the importance of the place Simon presently escorted her.
Persephone’s stomach tightened and horror took the place of her earlier disquiet.
Oh, God, where is he bringing me?
When Simon brought her to a stop outside the oak, glass-paneled double doors, her panic spiraled.
Harried, Persephone glanced down at her out-of-fashion garments that’d recently begun showing signs of wear. She was suitably attired for an outing as a secretary or companion to Simon and Lady Isabelle. But that wasn’t the role he had in mind for Persephone this afternoon. Dressed as she was, Persephone couldn’t meet anyone of Simon’s station—not without being utterly humiliated.
Then, without knocking, Simon took the liberty of opening the door. He motioned for Persephone to enter ahead of him.
The unexpectedness of that managed to pierce Persephone’s alarm. Was this one of his newly inherited ducal properties?
Tentative, she ventured inside, finding comfort in Simon following close behind her.
No butler or, for that matter, any other servant rushed to greet them.
Trying to sort out where he’d brought them, Persephone surveyed their surroundings. The entryway of the residence was as stately on the inside as it was on the outside.
She climbed her gaze up the long, emerald-green carpet and marble steps that were flanked on either side by a pair of Doric pillars, and then her eyes caught on the mural overhead.
Awed, she took in the domed ceiling, which featured a masterful depiction of Air, floating atop a cloud and a rainbow. A winged putto waved drapery over the Element’s glorious, titian-haired head, while at her right side, two babes played with a peacock.
What was this place?
Confused, she looked at Simon.
“The Royal Academy of Arts,” he answered because he continued to possess the answers to her unspoken questions.
Persephone could manage only a perplexed shake of her head.
Clearing his throat, Simon gestured at the foyer. “The Royal Academy of the Arts,” he said again.
At her protracted stunned state, he faltered. “You’d always talked about wanting to visit.”
The force of Persephone’s emotions made it impossible to speak or swallow.
The light sparkle in Simon’s eyes went out.
He looked about with uncertainty. The furrow in his brow deepened. “Perhaps, you’ve been enough before? It’s been years; mayhap it’s just you’re no longer interested in visiting?”
Stunned into silence, she couldn’t keep up with Simon’s rapidly flying ruminations.
Suddenly, his expression darkened. “Or maybe it is that you’ve been here with Lord Bute and have painful memories, in which case I am so sorry, Seph, I didn’t think—”
“No!” she exclaimed, her heart beating hard against her chest. “No, it is not that.”
Tears blurred her vision and Simon’s beloved visage.
He growled. “I’ll kill him.”
As those drops slipped heedlessly down her cheeks, Simon yanked a kerchief from his pocket and wiped away that moisture. The gentleness of his touch belied the lethality of his vow.
“It’s not about him,” she insisted through her tears.
Not in the way Simon suspected, anyway.
